


Morticia Addams Biopic

by write_light



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types
Genre: Inspired by Addams Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_light/pseuds/write_light
Summary: Morticia Addams has astory, but it's a bit too dark even for Wednesday's bedtime.It starts with her own dearly departed sister, and that terrible day when Morticia killed off the girl she used to be and remade herself into something that could survive a hateful world alone.All of this was inspired by a 2019 tumblr post from @marauders4evr:"Listen…I would give up my first-born if it meant seeing a movie about a young goth woman who is completely oblivious to the fact that she is ostracized by the rest of the world and moves through that world with an almost supernatural grace who one day just happens to sort of stumble upon a young Spanish man, his monstrous brother, his hysterical mother, his hairy cousin, and a severed hand and decides that she’s found her family long before her new boyfriend gets the courage to call her, “Cara Mia.” Played by Christina Ricci.I would see this a dozen times in the theater."
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Morticia Addams Biopic

**Author's Note:**

> Teaser:
> 
> Her dearest and only sister, Bevy, “got” her when not a single other soul did - her funereal wardrobe, the dark lips and darker outlook. When Bevy died, the world around them died away too, and she walked on alone into the terrifying future, clothed in grief. The world’s fear of her gave her a power and a presence she never fully understood or even noticed for years.
> 
> The horrid souls around her were so commonplace that she forgot decent people existed until she nearly stepped on a hand on the pavement. _Just a hand?_ was her first thought. _Not the rest?_ She apologized, of course, for the careless collision, and found it not at all odd that the hand seemed to listen, and to accept her apology.

**PRESENT DAY**

>> The Addams mansion. The children’s bedroom. Wednesday’s bed. Bedtime.

Mommy?

Yes, dearest.

Tell me about your other family.

Oh Wednesday, that’s such a terribly tragic tale from such a long time ago.

Would it give me nightmares?

Most definitely, but-.

Then why can’t I hear it?

Because I am late for a date with your father and I must run.

Like Cinderella to her carriage?

Heavens no! Although I _do_ hope Cousin Elverta hasn’t turned him into a pumpkin. She did say she was out of practice. Good night, children.

Another time, Mommy?

Another time.

>> Downstairs, by the dining room.

Tish!

Gomez. Hold me!

Whatever is the matter, my darling?

Wednesday asked about … my family.

You have all the family you need right here!

I _would_ love to tell her about Bevy.

And one day you shall, when you’re ready. But tonight is ours. Behold, DINNER!

He swept back the curtains and won her over yet again.

_And it was enough for now._

_~_

**10 Years Earlier**

>> Ralston’s Funeral Home. The Retreat Room, for when it’s all just too much.

Pressed into the corner of a couch in the corner of the room is a girl far too young to be handling a funeral on her own. Her hair is blacker than black, straighter than straight, tight around a heart-shaped face made deathly pale both by a carefully chosen foundation and the life that had lead her here to bury her sister. Everything about her was black - mood, aura, rough clothing and broken nails. She fought off tears, not well, and tore through a notebook of drawings like it held the spell to return her sister.

> **2 weeks before the funeral  
>  **
> 
> “Nothing scares you, does it, Bevy?”
> 
> “Nothing _you_ do."
> 
> _Plenty of things scare me. Mother’s moods always do._
> 
> “You just like the dark. But you always have." Bevy stopped suddenly. "No I lied.”
> 
> “Not possible.”
> 
> “You leaving scares me.”
> 
> “I won’t leave you here alone with her. If I leave, you go with me. And if you are whisked away, I will write to you often, in black-edged envelopes-“
> 
> “Those are for deaths!”
> 
> “I like them and if I died, I would still use them, and still write to you, from _beyond_. When I write to you, I will put it in code so they can’t read it. And you’ll know it’s from me because it will have a little toadstool I’ve drawn.”
> 
> She wrote the name “Bevy” in careful calligraphy and added a tiny toadstool just before it, her mark of love.
> 
> “A mushroom?” Bev asked, sincerely curious.
> 
> “A toadstool.”
> 
> “Well that’s a much cooler name.”
> 
> “A death-cap!”
> 
> “Coooool."

~

The pages of her tiny notebook curled and tore as she flipped faster and faster. Some caught a falling tear and carried it off into the past one by one until a blank page opened and the roar in her head stopped.

_I have to change my name. Bevy’s dead and so am I now._

“Make a list… come on, come on!”

She wrote seven words in a flush and felt it on the seventh - that spark. It was too good. 

The fake organ music droned loudly from the main hall, hurling her back to the odd-smelling confines of the room. 

_Death, rebirth. Goodbye, Bevy. Come haunt me if you need to. I hope you don’t need to. I’ll be in the turret of some gothic mansion, most likely._

Her eyes skipped to the last item again, but she pulled them back to the top. At each new word, she crossed out a letter or two, and spoke it aloud.

_I’m going to savor this. Give it its due._

> F U N E R A ~~L~~ _That’s dreadful._
> 
> E M B A L M E ~~R~~ _?? Maybe with an accent? Embalmé?_
> 
> ~~C O F F I N~~ _Well that’s just ridiculous._
> 
> O B I T U A ~~R Y~~ _Hmm._
> 
> ~~M O R G U E~~ _Good lord no. Bevy, why didn’t I ask you to rename me?_
> 
> M O R T U A ~~R Y~~ _I think I like Obitua better… but_
> 
> M O R T I C I A ~~N~~

It shone in black ink; in her head, it rattled around the skull until she felt it creep deep into her ear and out at the back of her tongue where she could speak it aloud.

“Morticia.” _Ah, Bevy. Will you still find me? I have a new name._ _Will you know it’s me?_

In her mind, they were 12 and 14 again, forever under the covers with a flashlight.

> “At the end of a lane, under a dead tree, wrapped in the finest black dress given by the finest and most dangerous man, that’s where I’ll find you!” Bevy teased her. 
> 
> “Does he kill me?”
> 
> “Quite the opposite,” Bevy said mysteriously.

  
The funeral director's assistant interrupted as delicately as she could.

“Miss? It’s time? Miss?”

“Morticia.”

“Miss Morticia, the service is starting. I believe you have some words to say? Not a lot of people in attendance, I’m afraid.“

“I have so much to say about my dead sister. Whoever came will have to listen.”

**Author's Note:**

> No disrespect is intended to the various existing Morticia canons; I offer this as an alternate story. That's all I have for now, but I may add more later.


End file.
